The Shot That May Have Saved a Life
by LuluDevine
Summary: This is a purely fictional account of exactly how Mulder and Scully's physical relationship moved to the next level. Very graphic in both physical descriptions and stream of thought narrative. Not recommended for non-adult readers.


Chapter 1: I Dreamt a Dream of Memories Lost

It feels at first as though I've simply been asleep, but gradually with the waking, I begin to notice a difference. It's as if I was struggling, like I have to will myself back into the waking world. How long have I been out? My eyelids flutter as I attempt to access what feels like a long-forgotten memory. _What is the last thing you did before falling asleep?_ I ask myself. The answer sends me briefly into a panic; I don't know.

I finally force the grogginess away and set about blinking as my eyes adjust to the light. It's so bright. _Your name is Dana Scully_, I start to run off the list in my head. _Your mother is Margaret, your brother is Bill… you work for the FBI… your favorite color is green…_ This helps me fend off the panic. Clearly I'm not suffering from any form of amnesia, but it might still be lost time. I shudder and push the thought away, far into the back of my mind, where that type of paranoia belongs. The last time I suffered from displaced time was during my abduction, and I refuse to entertain the thought that something of that nature could have happened again. Reeling from the conversation taking root inside my head, I tear my eyes the rest of the way open in an effort to escape it.

Before I move another muscle, I know exactly where I am. The sterile paint tones, the over-bright light bulbs, that faint chemical odor that lingers on the air; I can only be in one place. The hospital. Though my neck is achy and tender, it feels good to release some of the tension, so I move my head. And that's when I notice an all too familiar sight. There, in the corner of my "room" sleeping in a chair that's two sizes too small is my partner, Mulder, and he's out like a light. For a moment I allow myself some welcome relief, basking in the simple luxury of watching him sleep. For all of the passion, the emotion, of his waking self, hunched over in that chair he's never looked so silent or so still, like a child who's worn himself out with too much excitement.

I watch his chest rise and fall for what seems like an hour, and when he finally begins to stir, I realize that I'm smiling. _How did he do that?_

It's an entirely different story though, once he's finally awake.

"It's good to see you awake now, Scully," the words are simple enough but his tone tells something deeper. "You wanna tell me exactly what you thought you were doing?"

"Mulder…" I begin, but he clearly isn't done.

"I can't believe that you would ever be so foolish. After everything you know, after everything _we_ know, what would possess to follow him like that?"

I wait for a few seconds to be sure he's spoke his peace, and I can't help but noticed how authoritative he's become. One hand upon his hip, the other running through his hair in that frustrated way he does, I can't put my finger on this deja vous. Who does he remind me of? It's not Skinner. Close, but there's something much more worrisome, some angst under his demeanor, as if he's scolding me. It's almost like…

"A parent," I say out loud, not sure of how I feel about this sudden paternal streak.

"What?" his face contorts with confusion, clearly waiting for an answer.

"I'm sorry Mulder," I say calmly, "but I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Alex Krycek," he looks at me questioningly. "You followed him into the woods and you were attacked, ambushed?"

I search my mind for a moment, but nervously come up empty, shaking my head.

"I'm sorry, but I really just don't remember."

"You followed him for a reason!" he shoots back, suddenly becoming animated. "God only knows what it was, but it clearly seemed good enough at the time to go risking life and limb!"

I feel the frustration radiating off of him now, but I still can't make myself recall the truth of what he's saying.

I don't know what to tell you, Mulder," I reply, becoming defensive. "I'm sure there was a _very _good reason, and once I remember it, I'll be sure to let you know!"

His expression suddenly softens, and he moves towards me so deliberately that my natural reaction is to move back slightly. For a second I'm confused when he leans down and presses a palm just under my left clavicle, and then I am suddenly aware of myself. My eyes widen and lips part as I stare up at him, a single tear beginning to well up in my eye. I place my hand over his, feeling the warmth of his strong fingers, and wait for him to say what I already know.

"You really don't remember, Scully, getting shot?"

_Shot?!_

He can tell that I'm freaking out, and sits on the edge of the bed, pulling me into a hug. For a minute I just hang there, speechless, wrestling with my own mortality, and then as if on cue he slowly begins to rock me and my fingers press against him like I'm grasping the source of all life. His hand finds its way to the back of my head and he laces his fingers through my hair and holds on, not even realizing as he hushes me back to sleep.

Chapter 2: And Turning We Return Again

After some more sleep and some follow-up tests, I'm allowed to go home, and with restrictions, back to work. In true Mulder fashion, he's come to drive me home, and as always he refuses to take no for an answer. After several minutes of silence as we walk out of the hospital and he hefts my bags into the trunk, we finally sit down into the comfort of his car. There's something about the smell of it that puts me completely at ease, though it could be that maybe it just reminds me of him. He waits for an ambulance to pull away to his side, and then eases from the curb and turns onto the open road.

"So, do you remember anything about that day, Scully?"

I knew he would ask, but I'm still somehow unprepared.

"No," I sigh, staring ahead out the window. "I remember waking up in the hotel, but that's it. Where I went, what I did, it's all a total mystery." I pause just before adding, "I'm not sure that I _want_ to know. There's a reason that the brain disengages from these types of trauma, Mulder. If I'm ready to remember, then eventually, I will."

This time I can tell that his eyes are fixed on me, and finally, reluctantly, I turn to meet his gaze. But instead of his usual intensity, there's just a calm and friendly face, the restrained side of Mulder. He's purposely holding back. He does this every so often when he feels I both need and deserve it, softens himself in order to afford me comfort, and it means so much more when I know that he's consciously doing it.

"Was it Krycek that shot me?"

The question somehow surprises him and his hands tighten on the wheel in an attempt to maintain his restraint.

"No," he says shakily. "I don't know who shot you. I saw him, but it wasn't somebody I recognize. I ran through a few thousand photos but came up empty." His knuckles are whitening now from the grip. "It looks like our friend Krycek is working with some sort of paramilitary group, some gaggle of semi-trained goons. I tried to catch one of them, but in your condition it was far more important that I…" he suddenly trails off.

"What?" I ask, turning the rest of my body towards him. My curiosity is showing, but I really can't help it. Afterall, he remembers a great deal more than I do.

"I was worried that the apex of your lung had been torn, and there wasn't any cell phone reception in the woods," he says hesitantly, hoping that those few words are enough.

"What are you saying?" I persist. "No cell phone reception? Are you saying you carried me out of the woods?"

His silence confirms my suspicion and he faces ahead pretending to be concentrating on the road.

"How far?" I ask finally, but again he doesn't answer. "How far did you have to carry me before you got help?"

He's pulled up in front of my building now and I wait for him to park, watching as he nervously throws the car into gear before finally turning to look at me. I can see now the pain behind his eyes and immediately regret having pushed the issue.

"It was about six miles," he says softly, "until I made it to a road. It took me over an hour to get there, running half the way." He looks down, desperately trying to fend off tears, before choking out the last few words. "I was worried by that time that you had… died… in my arms."

Suddenly my lips are on his, moving against him with a force I've never felt. My hands caress his jaw, wiping away the hint of wetness, and my tongue explores his mouth with reckless abandon. I feel his breath grow heavy, heated, and it only fuels the fire. His arms close around me tighter, and his hands come to rest on my back and in my hair. I feel a gentle tug at the back of my head and it almost sends me over the edge. Panting, near convulsing, I manage to break the kiss, and I'm suddenly filled with the desire to compose myself. I pat down my tousled ponytail, clinging absently to the collar of my shirt with the other hand, and trying desperately to quell the desire that's built up within me. My gunshot wound is throbbing, but I've barely even noticed.

Mulder is staring at me, catching his breath, with a look of disbelief still plastered across his face. There's pain there, confusion, but also happiness, fear, and something so resembling love that it makes my own heart swell. I can't take it back now, but I'm not sure I'd really want to. I know that he saved my life, and not just because I'm his partner, his ally, or even his friend, but because there's something so much bigger than all of those other things, and I didn't even realize it existed between us right up until this very moment. How did we get here? I didn't really know, but more importantly I think, I didn't really care, because what I just felt could mean everything. Everything I've ever searched for in my personal life, everything that's been eluding me, I feel like I just found. I think somehow I knew that it had been there, waiting, all along._ Wow._

I open the car door, and call back inside, "you coming?" Then I hear his door fly open and the trunk pops with a resounding thud.

Chapter 3: Visions Crept to Cloud My Mind

It's been a few days now, since the kiss, and neither of us had said anything. Every time we find ourselves alone for more than a few seconds, this awkward staring goes on: both of us trying to find the right words, and each failing miserably. I try to push it to the back of my mind, to concentrate on the task at hand, but still I catch myself thinking of him in some very inappropriate ways. I watch his lips as he speaks to the local sheriff (we've gone to Norfolk, Virginia to investigate a homicide), and every time he turns to me, I smile and nod, oblivious.

"It took some doing on my part, but he said you can see the body. Mind if I come along?"

My daydream is suddenly broken, and Mulder is staring me down.

"Scully, the body? County morgue? Yes? No?"

"I- I'm sorry, Mulder? Yes or no to what?" I realize this whole time I've been fiddling with my necklace, and drop it back gently inside my blouse.

"Is it alright if I come with you, to take a look at the body?"

"Oh, yes. Sure. I don't see why not."

"Good. Then I'll drive."

He pulls the keys from his pocket, heading for the door, and I follow like a lost little girl.

_When did this happen_, I keep asking myself, _and why can't I concentrate like I always could before?_ It's no secret I've always found Mulder attractive, but work is still work, and it's never gotten in the way until now.

We arrive at the county coroner's office and the body looks normal as normal can be. I look over the woman as I pull a pair of gloves on. She's close to thirty, five foot six, healthy, with no marks, married as well (I can tell from her rings)… I look a bit closer.

"There appears to be some small trauma to the thigh," I point out a bruise around this tiny point that signifies a needle prick. "This woman's been injected with something against her will."

Mulder leans over me, squinting until he sees clearly. He examines the wound that the coroner obviously wrote off as just a bruise, and after a few seconds he makes the "ah-ha" face.

"Good work, Scully," he nods. "Told you it was an x-file."

"Mulder, it looks like just murder to me. There's any number of fluids that wouldn't show up on a tox screen. This _could_ be a simple case of potassium chloride toxicity."

"This woman didn't die of a random injection," he smiles as he pulls out her imaging results, throwing one up against the light board and flipping the switch. I hear the plastic rustle as he points a finger forcefully.

"Jesus," I see what he's pointing at on the x-ray of her femur. "She was given an injection so they could harvest her bone marrow?"

He nods affirmatively, clearly pleased to see that I've just jumped on board.

"But who would do such a thing, Mulder? And why? There's plenty of bone marrow donors on the registry. What would make this woman's marrow so special that someone was willing to kill for it?"

"That, "he says, clicking the light switch back off again, "is exactly what we came here to find out."

_I should've known better_, I say to myself. _He wouldn't have driven here if there wasn't something interesting._

With that we're out the door and on our way back to the motel.

Chapter 4: In Between and Underneath, a Thing That's Meant to Be

After ordering a pizza and eating separately in our rooms, it's getting quite late, and I begin to get ready for bed. I brush my teeth, absently wondering what he's doing at the very same moment. _It's never going to stop until you talk about that kiss._ I'd kissed Mulder before, a couple of times, but those kisses were different, never sexualized, very chaste. This last time in the car, when I'd seen him tear up over me, it was the very first time that I let myself really enjoy him, and now I'm completely petrified that I'll never get how right it felt out of my head. Somehow it was just so easy, so perfect to be with him, that it felt as if we should have been that way all along. _Am I going insane? He's my partner for god's sake!_ We both promise ourselves a long time ago that nothing would ever interfere with that bond because it was what kept us accountable to each other. This partnership is almost sacred in a way, and our commitment to the cause is what keeps us so honest. I'd never want us to lose that. Not ever.

_So, then, you'll just have to go talk to him about it. You'll have to do something else that you never wanted to do. You'll have to lie to him, and pretend that it didn't mean what it does to you._

I walk over hesitantly to the door that divides our rooms, but just as I raise a hand, the damn thing swings open and Mulder almost runs right into me.

"Mulder," I say questioningly, lowering my fist, "I was just-"

"Just listen for a minute," he cuts me off abruptly. This seems so unlike him, I'm taken aback.

"I need to tell you something, while I have the nerve to say it."

"Okay," I nod slowly, and back up a few steps, still facing him.

"You're not just my partner, you're my friend," he begins, and already I can tell this is so very hard for him. "My best friend, and I feel like I need to be honest with you."

He bridges the gap that I've placed in between us and now my heart is beginning to race.

"When you kissed me-,"

I put my hand up, stopping him in his tracks. Even though I was about to tell him the same thing myself, I suddenly can't bear to hear him say it was a mistake. I realize it means too much to me, but have no idea what to do now. Then he comes closer still and takes my hand between his, stroking it gently as I stare.

"I can't pretend that it didn't mean anything."

_What?_ I gaze into his eyes, disbelieving. I never dared to hope that he might feel the way I do. The look on my face must be telling him I'm horrified, but still he continues, determined to get it out.

"I would never give up what we have; it's so beautiful and perfect. But I'll never sleep again if I don't tell you what else there is. You deserve to know the truth. You deserve to hear it from me at least once, and I'm realizing lately how much time we might not have."

He smiles at me, a way that I've never seen him smile. I can tell that he's so frightened over what he's about to say, but the look in his eyes is so peaceful I could drown in them.

"I love you so much."

_I can't believe he said it._

"So much more than I ever knew I could love a person. If I lost you, that would be it for me. There would be no point to searching any more. My truth would just die along with you, and inside I would be dead too."

He's still holding onto my hand as a single tear rolls down my cheek. My mouth is open but I'm speechless, dumbfounded, disbelieving.

"I know that you didn't feel it. I know I never let it show. And after tonight, I'll never say anything like this again. I just couldn't let our lives pass, without giving you the truth just once."

He nods, satisfied that he's done what he came for, and drops my hand, beginning to back away again, but before I know what's happening, my own foot steps towards him. He stops when he sees me coming forward, not retreating. There's a questioning on his face, a tiny bit of hope in his eyes now, but he won't let himself give into it. He still doesn't think I could want him. He just stands there, still, waiting to see what I'm doing, and telling himself that it's not what it looks like.

I've never been more terrified of anything in my life, but he just took a leap of faith, and I'll lose the chance if I don't leap back. I step forward again, and then again, and again, until I'm standing right in front of him now. His expression is pained and wrought with disbelief as I reach down and slowly take his hands in my own. Another tear slips out as I lean into him softly, and with my lips against his ear, I breathe into a whisper, "I've loved you for so long."

Now his eyes become wet too, and finally he gives up that last bit of control. Usually when he touches me, his movements are deliberate, gentle and slow so as to never catch me off guard, but now he's relinquishing that well-practiced restraint, and letting his body take over for his brain. Every place he touches is as much a surprise to him as it is to me, and as he kisses the base of my neck, he's hitting just the right spot. I cry out without having meant to, and the sound becomes a catalyst as our bodies finally collide. We search each other tenderly, planting kisses all over, but always coming back to taste the urgency in each other's lips.

We've somehow traveled backwards, and my legs are against the edge of the bead. I stop for a moment, pulling back to search his face, and when I see the depth of his desire for me there I slowly drop down until I'm sitting on the mattress. _I can't believe I'm doing this_. He looks at me, uncertain, so I lean back onto my elbows to beckon him. I hardly know what's happened when I feel him suddenly over me. We writhe against one another as his hands unbutton my blouse. _This is really happening. Oh my god, I can't believe it._

As he slides the fabric down off my arms, he feverishly surges against my hips, and I finally give in to my own inner urges. I reach down and find myself fumbling with his belt and he gasps a few times as my hands rub against him. I love the way it sounds, so basal, like an animal. When I finally force it through the loops and throw it on the floor, he practically growls and bites into my shoulder as I remove his pants. I whimper, it's so good, just the right amount of force, and I realize his hands have both slid up my skirt.

"Oh, god," I breathe as his hands begin to touch me, his fingers sliding into me and pressing against the right spot. Within another minute my skirt is on the carpet and the only thing that separates us is a boring collection of underwear. He's stopped now for a minute, undoubtedly considering the gravity of our next move. I bring one hand up to his cheek and lift my head, planting a single, loving kissing upon his swollen, quivering lips, and he smiles, burying his face in my chest. He takes a few deep breaths, just comforting himself with my scent, and then carefully, almost ceremoniously removes my cotton bra. This piece he lays down gently, before running his hands over my breasts and then feverishly down the length of my torso. He slides my panties down off of my hips and I slip them off my feet one by one, letting them fall from the edge of the bed.

Next, the final barrier, his checkered cotton boxers. I slip a hand beneath the band and anxiously grab a hold of him, but before I can force them off over his pelvis, he's responded to my touch and spread my legs wide with his own hands. He buries his face between my thighs and works me up into a frenzy, and when he feels my legs begin to tense he forcefully pushes them flat against the mattress. I feel myself about to release and I pull his head back as gently as I can. I want him inside me and right this second isn't fast enough.

I practically rip his boxers down and let him do the rest. My nails rake down his back and my head rolls back in ecstasy as he finally rocks his way into the perfect position. Patiently and gently he begins to move, pressing his hard virile chest against mine. I feel his strong heart thumping rhythmically within and I think for a moment that I might die here and now. These seconds are so precious, so perfect and so close, that it almost becomes too much for me to take, and as if sensing my thoughts, he reaches up, intertwining his fingers with mine as he moves against me.

My breath becomes shallow, I tighten around him, and then moan out his name as I finally hit the peak. He kisses me deeply, and holds my gaze for a minute, then ever so gently starts moving again. This time it's _my_ turn to make _him_ moan. I curl my hips under, lifting my legs higher on his torso, forcing him deeper.

"Harder," I whisper, as I grab onto his hips, and he whimpers a little as I rise to meet his thrust.

Inadvertently I've risen to the edge again as well, and I start to make some noise. I really just can't help it. He lets out a guttural grunt, my mews driving him crazy, and practically yells my name into the air as we both stiffen at the sensation running through us.

His hips begin to slow, and eventually we collapse into a pile of sweaty limbs. Then he finally pulls away from me, coming to rest behind me, planting kisses on my shoulder. I turn and meet his mouth with mine, resting my fingers on his supple cheek, and we lay silent for a while, warm and safe in each other's arms. After a few minutes though, I feel him press against me. _I can't believe he's ready to go again._

I stay curled up in front of him, and gently guide him in, immediately feeling a tingle from the tension. As he starts to rock against me, he pulls my leg back carefully, and then the sensation starts driving me mad. He's hitting just the right spot in just the right way, and oh my god, I can feel it in my whole body.

"Oh, ohh," I start mumbling and gasping, and my legs are almost trembling. I bite my lip. I try to turn my head, but I can barely control my own movements, and he keeps on pumping into me, holding onto me like an anchor. All I can do is reach back and grasp his forearm as he forces me closer, and closer. It's so good that it's almost painful, and in a fit of passion I hear myself call out his first name. He hates it when people call him Fox, but this time I know that it just drove him wild. He responds by nipping my earlobe, as he too begins to shake.

In one smooth motion he grabs my hips and forces them down, thrusting so hard into me that I'm almost seeing stars. The climax overtakes us both at once, shuddering against each other as we ride it out together.

He kisses the back of my head appreciatively, still breathing so heavy and husky that I can hear it, and when it's alright to move we face one another and kiss like we haven't seen each other in years. It goes on this way for most of the night: resting briefly in between bouts of amazing love making. By sunrise we're both sleeping heavily, exhausted, and soaking wet with sweat. His arm is still around me when I finally wake up and sneak into the bathroom to hop into a refreshing shower.

Chapter 5: Calm After the Hurricane

I hear a gentle rustling; he's woken up alone in my bed. Still in the shower, I'm wondering if he'll leave, and for some reason hoping that the answer is no. I know that we can't just go on like this forever; it's time to put the walls back up and get back to work. But somehow I'm hoping for just a little while longer, for one more chance to kiss him like I mean it, in the daylight, to prove to myself that it wasn't just an earth-shattering dream.

I hear the bathroom door glide open, and as if he could read my mind, he hesitantly pulls back the shower curtain and smiles. I smile back, but instead of just the smooch I was pining over, he takes it as in invitation and steps into the shower. He opens his mouth to say something, but I place a finger over his lips, and silently, sweetly, he just smiles again. I wrap my arms around him and give him that stolen kiss. Then I lower my head to his chest and just stay there, listening to his heart. Like always, he understands, and just holds me while the water comes rushing down on us, until I let go.

We spend the rest of the shower in silence, except for some hums and some giggles, like when he leans over me while we both rinse our hair. When he's done, he gets out, leaving me with a final soft kiss on the forehead before grabbing a towel, gathering his clothes, and going back to his own room. Like always, he closes the door there behind him. I stay a while longer, just pondering our suddenly complicated new situation, before turning off the water and toweling off myself.

Half an hour later, we emerge from our separate rooms at the same time, like clockwork, and silently head for our respective sides of the car. We settle in, adjust our seatbelts, and he turns to check his blind spot before backing out. We have an appointment with the sheriff's office, and we're already ten minutes late, but he goes exactly the speed limit, even staring out the window with a smile on his face like there isn't any hurry.

"So what do you think about this bone marrow thing?" he says finally.

"I think we need to ask Sheriff Harland if there's anyone in town who might be waiting on a transplant list. I know you're inclined towards a particular way of thinking, but we still have to assume that there's a more mundane motive here, Mulder. At least for now."

He looks at me and chuckles.

"What?" I pretend to be offended, but the smile never leaves his face.

"Same old Scully," he says, beaming. "Same old Scully."


End file.
